


Fashion Choices

by MrMorran



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Daredevil 76, Daredevil Skin, Gen, Humor, I Tried, It's Reaper76 if you squint REALLY HARD, Parody, Shenanigans, and also tilt your head to the left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMorran/pseuds/MrMorran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soldier 76’s faceplate gets blasted to smithereens during a fight. </p><p>[Inspired by the daredevil skin. It exists to mock me.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative titles: There is enough angst of these two in the fandom let me live ffs. / That pornstache will haunt me for life. / It’s 2 AM go to bed. / This is terrible I am sorry. / The woes of support.
> 
> Right. I wrote this after 6 years of not writing anything because it would not leave my brain.

Things had been going pretty smoothly. The payload is slowly chugging along and the team, albeit being horribly unbalanced (luck of the draw 76 supposes), is behaving as a unit for once.

 

Genji and Tracer skirt the houses of Hollywood, keeping watch for any potential disturbances; Hanzo is watching their six, while Soldier 76, Mercy and McCree stand on top of the massive transport. They are almost at the checkpoint when their resident Cyborg ninja gets thrown from a rooftop by what looks like a 7 foot man dressed in a Pig mask.

 

“It appears we have company.” He dusts himself off and propels himself back to the rooftops, breaking off Mercy’s healing beam.

 

And then it all pretty much goes to hell from there.

 

A giant tire crashes into the payload and explodes, forcing them to scatter. Enemy gunfire rains down on them, peppered with grenades that have smiley faces drawn all over them and 76 almost bites his tongue in half as the damn things **bounce** in every possible direction and **explode**. He alternates between screaming into the com-link about all of them running for cover and abandoning the payload.

 

It’s general chaos from then on out.

 

He ducks behind a corner, not the best but it will do. The team’s voices filter periodically through the gunfire and explosions, everyone checking in. Genji and Tracer confirm a kill and Soldier lets out a shaky breath he doesn't even realize he’s holding.

 

But the next thing that filters through the Com makes the blood in his veins go stone cold.

 

“I require assistance!” Mercy’s voice has an edge of panic to it, it’s barely there but Soldier recognizes it from days long past and buried. He steels himself and with a grunt sprints toward the blinking blue light that his visor helpfully provides. Immediately he’s pelted with fire and he grunts, ducking as low as he can to avoid a direct hit.

 

He bypasses McCree who provides decent cover from what appears to be a lady in Blue (and he means that quite literally, her skin has a violet blue color and Soldier has a brief moment to lament the days where they only made enhanced humans that grew muscles and became 6 foot 1).

 

He rounds a few more corners and he’s greeted by the sight of Mercy squeezed into a dead end, one of her wings pitifully hanging from her back by a few wires and the steel that makes up her Valkyrie suit. In front of her stands a hunched up man with the tips of his hair smoking and is that fucking fire in his hair? 76 almost double takes but then he spots the grenade launcher and growls, ready to blow the fucker to pieces when it happens. A long string of curses and rapid rat-tat-tat gunfire interrupts all three of them, coming from up above and 76 twist upwards; Tracer is mid jump from one rooftop to another and her chronal accelerator is beeping loudly in protest. The figure on the other rooftop makes his mouth go dry.  

 

Reaper’s handguns are raised and Tracer is blinking directly into his line of fire.

 

76 knows he probably won’t accomplish anything, but he has to try at least. He owes Lena that much. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion, it feels like hours pass as he hauls his pulse rifle upwards to fire at Reaper. Maybe, just maybe he can make it, at the very least distract him for a split second, screw up Reaper’s aim.

 

There is a sickening crack as the shotguns go off and 76 feels like the world stops.

 

“NO!”

 

There is a flash of green and silver out of the corner of his eye, jumping behind Tracer mid air and pushing her downwards towards the ground. Genji’s blade flashes in the midday sun and the air reverberates as steel meets steel and Reapers pellets are ricocheted back at him.

 

The problem, 76 muses looking back, is that Genji’s not really used to deflecting in mid air while simultaneously half hovering, half downwards pushing Lena to safety. A great many of of the pellets fly in every direction possible and 76 takes the brunt of it; strays graze his right shoulder and leg and he twists to the right wanting to sprint for cover. The lucky others (and here 76 laughs) hit the connector of his visor and mask, just above his left jaw line; thankfully they don’t progress very far – it’s mostly cosmetic damage to the mask itself but it’s enough to let the thing crack and split open and unhinge from the side of his face.

 

The mask and visor dangle from his right side like a mockery of Angela’s broken Valkyrie suit. Jack Morrison’s face, scars and all, looks back into the world.

 

And the world stares back.

 

Tracer and Genji land safely a few feet in front of him and both gape at him (well, at least Lena does, it’s hard to tell with Genji sometimes). McCree rounds the corner and promptly skids to a halt so fast he almost trips over his own two feet.

 

For the second time that day the world slows down and 76 can feel everybody’s eyes on him. Nobody moves. Mercy stares at him like he’s a fresh corpse risen from the grave and even the grenade launcher guy stares at him, mouth agape.

 

“Oi mate…what the fuck is that on your face?” he succeeds to mutter before there are 4, 5, 6 different voices all screaming in unison, disbelief, anger, sorrow at him.

 

“JACK!?”

 

“What-”

 

“Commander Morrison!?”

 

“Didn’t-”

 

“We buried-”

 

But the loudest of them all is Reapers metallic scraping, like nails on chalkboard,”What the FUCK is that on your face _pendejo_!?”

 

And Jack, bless his Soldier heart, nearly drops his pulse rifle. “What?” It’s his turn to gape at Reaper now. (There is a faint, indignant “I asked first!” from the grenade launcher man but everybody ignores him).

 

“What the fuck is that _idiota_? Did you skin a gerbil and glue it to your face?!” Reaper stalks towards him, liquid darkness ebbing and flowing from his coat.

 

And at that point the team notices it. Sprouting gloriously from Jack’s upper lip, delicately bisected by a scar, is a blond, almost white, lush moustache.

 

It’s Soldier’s turn to gape at Reaper’s slowly advancing form. Only seconds latter does he lift his rifle and aims it squarely at Reaper’s chest. “Not another step!” he growls for good measure.

 

Reaper cackles, his shoulders bob up and down rhythmically, but he stops.

 

“My, my, _gringo_ didn’t we have this talk years ago? Facial hair doesn’t suit you. Especially not that… **thing**. You look like you escaped from those old school porn movies.” The mirth is still present in that scratchy voice and it makes Jack pause.

 

“Gabriel!” He gasps, the pulse rifle lowers minimally, shock written all over his face and then the other words register and Jack visibly bristles. “Fuck you I’m trying something out!”

 

He doesn't even know why he’s defending his fashion choices and this day has **definitely** taken a turn on bizarre boulevard. Soldier can feel a faint flush spreading from his turtle-neck shirt upwards to his one visible ear and he twitches his eyes away from Reaper for a second and it’s all of an opening Gabriel needs.  Suddenly he is black smoke and fast and then he is solid again and he knocks the rifle away before 76 can shoot. He grabs his right arm and twists it behind 76’s back, his other arm grabs him in a choke hold and that’s all it takes.

 

Reaper cackles near his right ear, small puffs of air through the hollows of his mask.

 

“You look ridiculous.” Then he twitches his face towards McCree whose mouth is gaping so hard it could be mistaken for Deadlock Gorge.

 

“You were a terrible student, but I have faith that you at least remembered this well; give me your pocket knife.”

 

McCree stares at him, gun mid draw for his fan the hammer and for what feels like minutes he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a peep.

 

Soldier can feel Reaper taking a deep breath, ready to scold again perhaps, but then Jesse moves, tucks his gun back into its holster and removes his boot, grunting as he twists the heel to the left and reveals a small knife.

 

“What?!” it’s Soldiers time to gape. He can’t believe this is happening, he can’t believe he’s witnessing this.

 

“’Fraid so Commander. That thing needs to go.” Jesse McCree looks solemn like he’s walking to a funeral.

 

76  twists and his eyes find Mercy. “Are you just going to stand there?! Angela!”

 

Reaper notes the shrill tone with glee.

 

Angela sighs, “Oh dear,” and puts a hand to her cheek, “It really needs to go Jack.” She says it like Jack’s mother, back on the farm, when he kept refusing to throw away pants that had too much motor oil and holes in them.

 

His eyes roam the secluded corner of Hollywood in a frantic motion until they find Tracer and Genji. “Do something!” He’s practically begging now, struggling against the iron grip of Reaper’s claws.

 

Tracer lets out an undignified snort that soon devolves into hysterical laughter and Genji’s whole posture becomes closed off, radiating shame.

 

“I am sorry Mister 76 but you really do look ridiculous. It will be better this way.”

 

Jack gapes and goes still. He barely even registers McCree as the man appears next to his left.

 

“Ah promise Sir. This’ll be over quick.”

 

Reaper tightens his grip on him and mocks, “Better close your eyes Boyscout.”

 

“Wait..wait…waitwaitWAIT!”

 

Jacks shrill screams echo throughout Hollywood. Other than disturbing a few pigeons they do very little.

 

The payload gets safely delivered by one Hanzo Shimada, who can be heard muttering under his breath to himself that this is the last time he has helped Overwatch and that he is not support and therefore it is beneath him to stay behind with the payload.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so very sorry for this. Now back to never writing anything again.
> 
> DON’T YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY THAT BOTH GABE AND JACK ARE 6,1??? I THINK IT’S A SIDE EFFECT OF THE CAPTAIN AMERICA SUPER-SOLDIER SERUM. CONSPIRACY.
> 
> (Psst. The last joke is a jab at all the other’s leaving support players with the payload. Please #staywiththepayload.)
> 
> Blue Team: Genji, Tracer, McCree, S76, Mercy, Hanzo  
> Red Team: Reapurr, Junkrat, Roadhog, Widowmaker


End file.
